


Sex Pollen

by Kalimyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, You can't trust anything in Sherlock's kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimyre/pseuds/Kalimyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill.  I don't care if it's straight up sex pollen, or aphrodisiacs, or aliens, or bad oysters, I just want to see someone (preferably John) get dosed with something that makes him horny as hell and needing to get off.  So yeah, this is basically shameless cracky porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex Pollen

Sherlock frowned at the empty plate. He tilted his head and examined the remaining crumbs scattered over the surface. He crouched down and peered closer. Then he stood up straight and, very slowly, looked over his shoulder. “John?”

“Hmm?” John was in the living room, newspaper in one hand, the other balancing a cup of tea on the armrest of his chair.

“Did you eat the biscuits that were on the kitchen table?”

“What, the lemon ones? Yeah, may have. Why?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and thought very quickly. “When?”

“Dunno, maybe twenty minutes ago?” There was a pause. “Sherlock… oh, tell me there was nothing strange in them.”

“There was nothing strange in them,” Sherlock replied obediently.

Another pause. “Are you lying?”

“Yes.”

John muttered a curse under his breath. “Am I going to be sick? You’ve poisoned me with something, haven’t you?”

“Nothing like that,” Sherlock said. “Dangerous poisons disguised as food are always labeled. We agreed. After the incident with the jam.”

“Yes, thanks for that, I’d nearly forgotten,” John grumbled. “So what is it then?”

Sherlock walked into the living room and eyed John. Slightly increased respiration, faint flush of colour in his cheeks, eyes more dilated than they should be in the slanting afternoon light. “John,” he said earnestly, “remember that you’re advancing scientific knowledge. It could help us solve a case one day. Actual lives could hang in the balance. So it is absolutely crucial that you allow me to observe the results.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Am I supposed to fall for that, then? The humanitarian bit?”

Sherlock dropped the earnest expression. “Worth a shot. Practically speaking, you will very shortly require assistance. I am the most logical person to provide it. It will be very informative for me, and… not unpleasant for you.”

“Not unpleasant,” John echoed. “What am I going to be requiring assistance with?”

“Describe your symptoms,” Sherlock said. He perched on the edge of the coffee table and observed John closely. “I can see most of them, but do you feel different?”

John glanced away; there was a brief dart of pink as he licked his lips. “Bit hot, now that you mention it. My skin feels strange. Kind of itchy. Heart rate is faster than usual, I can feel it. And…” He hesitated. The colour in his cheeks deepened. Then his eyes went wide, and he stared at Sherlock in disbelief. “Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Sherlock did not try to look innocent. It never worked on John. “Yes,” he said. “It’s exactly what you think.”

“Why would you… what possible scientific use… who puts an aphrodisiac in _lemon biscuits?”_

“It’s my own formula,” Sherlock replied. “One dose per biscuit. There were four on the plate.”

John scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s…” He blew a breath out between pursed lips and shifted in his chair. “Wait, when you said assistance…”

Sherlock nodded. “Given the dosage you’ve consumed, combined with what is obviously your own high natural sex drive--”

“Excuse me?”

“Please, Stamford has told me enough stories,” Sherlock replied. “Three continents Watson? Really, John.”

John sputtered. “You… first, that’s none of your business; second, since when do you trade stories with Mike Stamford? And third, you’re the man who just dosed me with _homemade sex pollen!_ You’re in no position to judge.”

“But I am in a position to help.” And then Sherlock slid off the table and onto his knees in front of John.

John’s jaw dropped and he stared. After a moment, he remembered to inhale. “Thought this wasn’t your area?”

“Experiments are always my area.” He put a hand on John’s knee and squeezed. “And since I am partly responsible for your condition…”

“ _Partly?”_ John shifted again and bit his lip. “You, you… yes, all right, come on then.”

Sherlock beamed. “Excellent. Make sure you provide a running commentary of anything that feels unusual. Use your previous sexual experience as a control comparison. Is there anything out of the ordinary so far?”

John put a hand over his eyes and made an exasperated sound. “Out of the ordinary? You mean, aside from you on the floor about to give me a blowjob? No, no, everything is quite normal, thanks, this is how I spend most Thursday afternoons. Cup of tea, crossword puzzle, utterly mad flat mate giving me sex drugs, why would anything be-- _oh my god.”_

Sherlock stroked him again through his trousers and John’s hips jerked so hard he nearly fell out of the chair. Sherlock pushed him back and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I haven’t even touched your skin yet. Are you usually that sensitive?”

“Jesus christ,” John groaned. “Hurry up or I’m going to come in my pants. What the hell was in that stuff? I’ve never… oh god again, do that again.”

“You needn’t worry about recovery time,” Sherlock said as he undid John’s trouser button. “Another effect of the drug.”

John whined between clenched teeth and pushed his cock up against Sherlock’s hand. “Hurry,” he panted.

One corner of Sherlock’s mouth tugged into a smirk. He unzipped John’s trousers, then pulled him out through the gap in his boxers. John was fully erect, the head of his cock already shiny with pre-come. The skin was hot and stretched tight, sleek against his palm. John whined again and shuddered when Sherlock gave him a long stroke.

Then Sherlock leaned forward and took as much as he could in his mouth, swallowing John down until his nose brushed against the curve of his belly. John keened and thrust forward, but Sherlock’s hands on his hips kept him pinned. Sherlock felt a hand in his hair and would have smiled if his mouth were not already busy. 

“Sherlock, _fuck_ , I’m already, I’m going to,” John babbled. “Your _mouth_ , do you have any idea how many times…”

Sherlock rubbed his lips just below the head, then pulled back enough to bob up and down over the glans. He licked at the foreskin and then at the slit, lapping and probing with the tip of his tongue. John cried out and writhed and his cock grew even thicker in Sherlock’s mouth and then he was coming in long waves. Sherlock heard his name murmured. He grinned around John’s cock and sucked hard, prompting another hoarse shout.

Finally John whimpered and pushed him away. He slumped back in the chair, looking utterly wrecked. His hair was mussed and sweaty, his face bright red, shirt clinging damply to his chest, and his cock still poking out of his trousers, half-hard and shiny with spit. Sherlock waited until John looked at him, and then he licked his lips. John’s eyes went half-lidded and dark.

“How long until this wears off?” John asked.

“At least two hours,” Sherlock said. “Possibly three.”

John nodded. “And how many times can I come during that time, do you think?”

“That depends,” Sherlock said.

“On?”

“On whether you let me add prostate stimulation to the experiment.” Sherlock smiled smugly when he saw John’s cock twitch with interest. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

John squirmed. “Oh god, yes.” He paused, and gave Sherlock a narrow glance. “One other question--exactly how much of this was planned?”

“All of it,” Sherlock said. “I grew tired of waiting for you to act upon your obvious attraction to me.”

“Ah. Right. Couldn’t just ask me out like a normal bloke, could you? Thought drugging me was the way to go?”

“You would have said yes either way. This is less tedious.” Sherlock leaned in to mouth at the head of John’s cock; he was already getting hard again. “You must admit you haven’t exactly objected.”

“Yeah, fair point,” John said. He moaned as Sherlock licked him again, and then he threaded his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and pulled his head back. “Bed. Right now.”

Sherlock gave him a predatory grin. He crowded in behind John as they went through the flat, his hands on John’s waist. He didn’t wait for John to get on the bed; as soon as they entered the room he had John pinned against the wall. He ground against the other man, hips pressing forward, and gasped in relief as he finally got some pressure against his cock.

“Look at you,” John breathed against his neck. “Hard already.” He spun them deftly, pushing Sherlock’s back to the wall and holding him there.

“Mmm, oh,” Sherlock said. “I had to test it on myself first, of course. Had to make sure it was effective.”

“So this whole time…”

“ _Yes,”_ Sherlock growled. “Yes, this whole time, I normally have excellent self control but I may have underestimated… _unh, John.”_

John pressed the heel of his hand at Sherlock through his trousers and Sherlock thrust against it, his head thumping back against the wall. Just the pressure and friction alone were enough to make his toes curl and he bit his lip. Sweat trickled down his back. He grabbed John’s wrist and pulled him closer; he just needed a little bit more.

John kissed his neck and then bit at him, scraping with his teeth, sucking hungrily on his skin. Sherlock moaned and his hips jerked forward. He could feel the sticky rub of cotton against the head of his cock as John stroked him through his trousers. Then John sucked his earlobe into his mouth and licked it and Sherlock arched his back and came rather messily in his pants.

“Gorgeous,” John purred. He tugged impatiently at Sherlock’s clothes. “Come on, again, I need, I can’t believe how strong you made this stuff.” 

Dazed, Sherlock sagged against the wall and tried to move uncooperative limbs. John stripped him efficiently and pushed him onto the bed. Sherlock blinked for a moment and when he opened his eyes John was shoving his trousers and pants to the floor. John climbed on top of him and kissed him hard, sucking on Sherlock’s bottom lip. “How fast can you get hard again?” he asked between kisses. “Need you to fuck me, come on.”

“Soon,” Sherlock said, then twisted on the bed as John pinched one of his nipples. “ _Uh,_ oh god, very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” John growled. He turned and rummaged through the bedside drawer, then threw a bottle of lubricant at Sherlock. He glanced down as it smacked him in the chest. “Use your fingers first,” John said. _“Hurry.”_

Sherlock pushed him onto his back and spread his legs, shoving his thighs apart. John canted his hips upward and made an impatient whine in his throat. He was fully hard again, cock a deep red colour and curving against his belly. Sherlock didn’t waste time. He slicked his fingers and pushed the first in without warning.

“Ah!” John gasped, and then pressed himself back against Sherlock’s hand. “More.”

“Pushy,” Sherlock said, but gave him more, sliding in a second finger. He curled them and found John’s prostate easily. 

“Jesus fuck,” John groaned. “You got me into this situation, don’t complain about it now. Oh god, _harder.”_

John was tight and slippery around his fingers, squeezing down on them with each push, and Sherlock could feel himself rapidly getting hard again. He rubbed the pads of his fingers firmly over John’s prostate in little circles and John thrashed. Sherlock added a third finger and did it again. 

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked. “You have to be ready now John. I can’t… oh…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” John babbled. “There’s, you need… oh this is taking _too long.”_

Sherlock had to pull his fingers out of John to get a condom on and John moaned in protest. “Shh, yes, I will, just,” Sherlock mumbled. “Hold on.”

“Don’t tell me to--oh, oh yes.” John’s voice went low and broken as Sherlock pushed in. He shivered and scrabbled at the duvet with his hands. His heels skittered and thumped against the bed. He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow and bit his lip. Sherlock watched all of it; soaking up every detail.

“Remember to, ah, I need you to,” Sherlock paused and tried to catch his breath. “It’s still useful scientific data. If there’s anything different. John?”

“Different,” John moaned. “Yeah, it’s, I’ve done this before but not like… it didn’t feel like this.”

“Different good? Or not good?”

“Good, definitely good,” John said. “God, like that, exactly like that. Again. Harder, I’m not going to break. Put your back into-- _ohhhhhh yes.”_

Sherlock lifted John up, got his legs wrapped around his waist, and snapped his hips forward. John cried out and his cock slapped against his belly. He was tight and impossibly hot around Sherlock, gripping him perfectly, each thrust a sweet, utterly satisfying slide. Sherlock looked down to watch himself moving in and out of John, and made a soft, helpless noise.

“Different for you too?” John asked. 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He didn’t elaborate. “I’m, _oh,_ getting close. Tell me when you’re…” 

“Yeah,” John said, “yeah, come on.” He arched his back and hooked his ankles together behind Sherlock, squeezing him closer. He wrapped a hand around his cock and hissed a harsh breath between his teeth as he stroked himself.

“John,” Sherlock said, closing his eyes. _“John.”_

“Oh god, faster, I’m almost,” John said. His hand moved faster, twisting on the upstroke, thumb moving in feverish little rubs over the sweet spot just beneath the head. 

Sherlock groaned and went faster. He could feel the impending orgasm coiled low in his belly, quivering in the soles of his feet and tingling in his palms. His skin sang and burned and his heartbeat pounded in his chest. Every thrust pushed him just that little bit higher. His thighs ached with the effort of holding them in place, of getting exactly the right angle, but the way John squirmed and whimpered wouldn’t let him even consider stopping. 

“Yes, yes, like that, _yes.”_ John’s voice was ragged and he tightened around him as he started to come in rhythmic pulses. Sherlock watched the first streak of come land in a long stripe up John’s flushed chest and he pushed in as deep as he could and gave a long, low groan.

He held them there, suspended in place on the bed, rocking slightly as he came. John’s body seemed to pull it out of him, to draw even more pleasure and demand he keep going. His eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth fell open; it was a long, delicious moment before he could breathe again.

Sherlock collapsed on top of John and just lay there, trembling, muscles all gone to jelly. John stroked a hand through his disheveled, sweaty hair and gave a low laugh.

“Something funny?” Sherlock asked in a slurred voice.

“Two more hours,” John said. “You’re going to kill me.”

Sherlock grinned. “I may have to recalculate the dose a bit,” he admitted. “It’s stronger than I anticipated.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to be able to sit down tomorrow, thanks for that,” John said.

“If it appeals to your sense of fair play, you can return the favour,” Sherlock offered.

John snickered and smacked Sherlock on the arse. “Deal.”


End file.
